Charted: Louisiana, Libertalia, and Lemurs
by The General G of K
Summary: Or, the running tally for life after Libertalia goes as follows: one salvaged marriage, two family members gained, and three attempts at trying to convince your wife that a lemur is a suitable house pet. (Sequel to Charted: Domesticity Stateside)


Charted: Louisiana, Libertalia, and Lemurs  
 _By:_ The General

Description: Or, the running tally for life after Libertalia goes as follows: one salvaged marriage, two family members gained, and three attempts at trying to convince your wife that a lemur is a suitable house pet.  
Disclaimer: Not mine still, obviously.  
TG/N: I've had this as an unposted and unfinished document on my computer basically since last May when I finished Uncharted 4. That game absolutely destroyed me fundamentally as a person (in the best way possible), which is how this almost came to be titled "Adventure Family Survives Druckmann." That said, this sequel of sorts incorporates U4 canon and may include spoilers for anyone who hasn't played through it. Thank you, as always, for taking the time to click (and hopefully) read.

 _ **i.**_

The move to Louisiana is an exciting and somewhat stressful affair.

The offer for their current house comes in on a Tuesday at the close of the business day in early June. It comes in at a decent amount over their asking price, so even though they haven't finalized anything on the new home—let alone put in an actual offer yet—Elena assures the realtor on the other end of the phone (through the smile that's threatening to split her face in two) that she and Nate accept. When Nate hears the news, he spins Elena around, his smile mirroring hers.

"We've never had a plan before," he says in response to her concerns about the timetable for the move. "Why should we start now?"

So Elena hands in her two-weeks to WFTV ABC 9 that Wednesday, much to the disappointment of Gary, who works in editing ("Viewership is gonna go down without you providing a weekly dose of explosions overseas."), while Nate focuses all of his energy on packing up the inordinate amount of books and artifacts they've come to accumulate within the last three years ("How do we have _seven_ copies of _The Science of Adventure_?"). They try to goad Sully into helping by offering a box of Cubans and a bottle of really good scotch. Eventually, he caves, but only in helping them load the packed boxes into the moving truck ("There's not enough treasure in the world that could convince me to get in there; Nate's a damn hoarder."). They try the same thing for Charlie and Chloe, but they're both in Berlin, no further details given ("Keep us updated though, will you?")

Before they know it, Elena takes one last video of the old place—including reactions from Nate and Sully (which she promptly uploads to Instagram, Chloe and Charlie her first two likes)—and they're traveling down I-12, everything packed and ready for Louisiana.

About an hour into the drive, Elena receives a call with a '225' area code. Over speakerphone, the realtor tells she and Nate that their offer has been accepted, and they've barely hung up before Nate comments, "Guess this means we can cancel the hotel arrangements, huh?"

It's nearly dusk by the time they finally arrive at the new place, legs and arms stiff from the close to ten-hour drive. Once they've done the walkthrough of the new place, they make a pact to start tackling the unpacking tomorrow. In the meantime, they both collapse on the front porch, grinning lazily into the setting sun. Nate procures a small bottle of champagne, that's regrettably lukewarm since the ice in the cooler melted about two hours ago. He pours it into their empty Popeye's soda cups, and they toast to their luck and their new home.

"You know what would make this place even better?" Nate eventually asks. Elena's at his side, her head on his shoulder. He kisses the top of it.

"Hmm?" she asks as she snuggles up against him, her eyes closed against the deep orange glow from the horizon.

"If we got a pet lemur."

 _ **ii.**_

Admittedly, leaving the life and moving to Louisiana ends up affecting Elena more than she thought it would. She still writes, of course, and everyone in the neighborhood is pleasant enough, but it doesn't take long for a desire for the familiar to set in, which is how she ends up buying a pre-owned PlayStation 4 after she runs out of excuses to give to Chloe and Charlie for not getting one in the first place.

Apparently, Chloe and Charlie play shooters online

"I'm telling you," Chloe says over Bluetooth. Elena's still trying to work out how to turn the system on, not quite able to wrap her head around how the machine has changed in a few generations. "You're going to _love_ it."

After randomly pressing buttons, Elena hears the faint _beep_ and sees the blue light turn on when she presses the right one. She smiles at the PlayStation logo that appears on the screen and the low hum of the console. "But I don't play competitively."

" _Yet_ ," Chloe assures, her voice tinny over the earpiece. "You don't play competitively yet."

"I don't know, Chloe," Elena counters. The screen is asking for her login information and a bunch of different setting preferences, and since when did a game need to be connected to the wireless? Apparently, video games became a lot more involved than the last time she played. "I think I might just be a bandicoot and fruit collecting kind of girl."

Chloe sighs. "You're only saying that because you've yet to experience the utter satisfaction of completely destroying insecure men at virtual combat and then trash talking them afterward."

It _had_ felt pretty great schooling Nate with _Crash Bandicoot_. Maybe Chloe has a point.

"Fine." Elena's shoulders sag as she lets out a sigh, her eyes on the screen. It's asking for some kind of username? She wracks her brain for a moment before settling on _Sunshine_. The screen informs her that the name has already been taken when she hits enter, so she amends it to _Sunshine07_ , adding the year she met Nate and Sully. That works. "But you can't make fun of me when it turns out that I am terrible at this."

Chloe laughs on her end. "I can make no such promise!" she protests, as if the mere thought goes against who she is fundamentally as a person. "But if it makes you feel better, Charlie is absolute rubbish at it, and I keep him around anyway."

Another line emits static as it comes to life. "Oi, watch it!" Charlie's voice comes in over the mic. "I hold my own well enough, thank you very much."

"Oh, is that what we're calling it?" Chloe asks, her smirk audible.

Charlie shrugs, or at least, that's what Elena imagines he does. "Absolutely we are," he assures her. "And it's no worse than bullying children online, which I believe is your claim to fame."

"That is absolutely not fair; it was one time!" Chloe protests, immediately on the defensive, despite Charlie's laughter in the background. "How was I supposed to know? The foul nature of his username suggested someone nearly twice his age. All the more reason, I say, to keep young children from playing games made for adults."

"Oh, sure," Charlie says, still laughing, "blame the _parents_."

Elena lets their back and forth play out, before focus naturally swings back to the game they're trying to play. Turns out, she has to friend both of them before they can start playing. Within moments, she receives friend confirmations from _brighteyezz_ and _Charles_of_Arabia,_ and after a minimal amount of coaching, she manages to get the game inserted and loaded.

"Okay," she says, Bluetooth mic in place, her legs pulled up and under her on the couch, and the game's home screen illuminating the TV, "let's take these knuckleheads down."

There's only a minimal amount of snickering that comes through her mic in response.

 _ **iii.**_

"Tango on my six. Someone take this douchebag down."

"Say no more," Chloe responds. Like clockwork, the guy behind Elena takes a head shot. She watches the screen as his skull explodes in a truly gratuitous display of violence and guts.

"Oh, _beautiful_ ," Charlie chimes in. "That guy's been a right arsehole since we started, camping at all our spawn points and mowing us down, no mercy whatsoever. Humiliate him, Bright Eyes."

"With pleasure," she coos, changing her mic from their private party chat to the general lobby. When she finishes, they're down one player in the lobby, and Elena beams.

As it turns out, Elena's _really good_ at shooters. To the point where Chloe and Charlie actually begged her to join their clan after a few months and play with them regularly. And even though it's only ever been about having fun and relieving stress for her, Elena can't help feeling a sense of pride that the three of them have developed a bit of a reputation in the online community for being pretty unstoppable. Her personal stats alone are enough to keep most trolls off her back, so she generally doesn't have to verbally retaliate. But even if she has to, she can hold her own, thanks to Chloe's tutelage. Charlie, on the other hand, is embarrassingly bad at trash talk, much to Chloe and Elena's amusement.

Her attention is momentarily torn from the game when she hears the front door open. Nate's not normally home this early, and Elena's never been fully upfront about her new gaming hobby, so it takes him a moment to adjust to the sight before him, after he toes his shoes off and dumps his bag on the floor next to them. Elena's sitting on the edge of the couch, her body leaning forward, her headset (a _minor_ upgrade) on as she issues commands to Charlie and Chloe. She smiles widely when he sinks into the couch next to her.

"You miss me that much that you're talking to yourself?" he asks as he wraps his arm around her shoulders, planting a kiss on the top of her head. It's distracting enough that she misses her next shot, giving her opponent the chance to shoot her, which he does. Chloe has a stream of expletives in response, which Elena pointedly ignores.

"Hey, you. You're home early," she says, covertly muting the mic and snuggling into Nate's side. He tightens his grasp in response,

"Yeah, pretty light day for salvaging," he explains, idly tracing random lines on her shoulder. It's _super_ distracting, which is how she misses another shot. On cue, Chloe _and_ Charlie have some choice words for her. Nate's gaze is trained on the screen, which is how his next statement comes to pass. "Did that fox with pants join the army in the sequel?"

Elena snorts. "It's a bandicoot," she says reflexively. "And, no. This is a completely different game."

"It looks violent," he concludes, which she can't help noticing the irony after everything they've been through. After a beat, he adds, "Can I try it?"

She hands the controller over to him willingly (recognizing this match as a rare failure at this stage, anyway) and watches in awe as Nate somehow outdoes himself by playing abysmally. Amazingly, his hand-eye coordination is pretty terrible for someone who used to require precise dexterity to swing across buildings and caverns. Hiding her laughter becomes an impossibility when, after five deaths in a row (two of which happened as a result of pushing the left joystick too far, so his character just kept running in circles), Chloe and Charlie go ballistic.

"Elena. Sweetheart," Chloe says slowly, trying in vain to restrain her fury and failing. "Have you hit your head and become concussed? Because that's the only explanation I can conjure for the shit show that is your current performance."

"Absolute _bollocks_! Get your head out of your arse and play like you know what a video game is," Charlie demands, decidedly more forthcoming with his frustration.

"Guys," she finally chimes in, switching the mic from mute. She's giggling too hard for anything to be very coherent, but she presses on. "It's not me, it's Nate."

The sound of their collective outrage ("Bloody _hell_ ," barks Charlie) is so loud that Nate can hear it, even over Elena's laughter. When he asks who she's talking to, she wordlessly switches her mic to external audio, the sound of Chloe and Charlie making fun of him now projected into the living room. Nate's ears go slightly pink, and Elena only feels a little guilty for being unable to stop laughing.

" _Ha, ha_ , laugh it up, guys," he shoots off sarcastically, tossing the controller back in Elena's lap. "I may not be able to play video games, but I _did_ discover Shambhala, you know."

Charlie groans, and Elena pokes Nate in the side, booing at him. Chloe actually blows a raspberry in response.

"Oh, come off it, Nate. That excuse lost its appeal the first thousand times you used it."

"Yeah," Charlie adds, "don't make us dislike you anymore than we already do for you being a shit player."

 _ **iv.**_

When Jamison's wife, Carla, invites Elena to join her for her yoga class late one Thursday afternoon, Elena can't say anything but yes. Jamison and Carla were the first ones to make Elena and Nate feel welcome when they moved to Louisiana, and they consistently invite the two of them over for dinner every month. Elena can't ignore the small amount of guilt that may or may not be playing a factor in her decision.

She can, however, ask a friend to come with her. A friend who arrived from Berlin two days ago and is currently sleeping on their couch. A friend like Chloe.

"I simply don't understand _suburbia_ ," Chloe says, saying the last word as though it's the most repulsive concept she's ever heard.

"First of all," Elena counters through laughter, "where we live hardly classifies as 'suburbia,' and second"—she gestures to her stomach—"you go surprisingly soft when you're _not_ running for your life from some mythical, collapsing city."

"Yes, but why must _I_ suffer because of your choice to leave the life?" Chloe demands as she holds the studio door open.

Elena thinks for a moment. "Because you're working on being a _really_ good friend?"

Chloe's head falls back as she barks with laughter. "And you are apparently working on being a _really_ bad liar?"

"Oh, come on," Elena coaxes. She goes so far as to link her arm with Chloe's before they enter the studio. "It's gonna be great!"

 _ **v.**_

It's not great, for the record.

Carla neglects to mention that the yoga class she attends is _hot_ yoga, which Elena can only compare to doing yoga smack dab in the middle of the Rub' al Khali. Just when her body adjusted to the temperature inside the studio, the ventilation system would pump even more hot air into the confined space. She doesn't even bother with the showers afterward, just pushes her way out through the front entrance, where she braces her hands on her thighs and gulps in the clean and comparatively cool air.

"It's…gonna be… _great_ , huh?" Chloe gasps, following suit as she slides down the side of the building, her legs sprawled out on the ground. Much like Elena, she's drenched in sweat, droplets of it dripping from her hair into the red, water wicking material of her tank top. "Please be sure to engrave ' _it's gonna be great'_ on my… tombstone once they scrape my body off this sidewalk and…bury me in a shallow grave."

"I'm so sorry," she apologizes, unable to laugh like she normally would due to exhaustion. Unlike Chloe, Elena has on an old, baggy t-shirt, which is now plastered to her body, almost obscenely. "Remind me to—" She has to stop momentarily, her lungs stubbornly not cooperating with her desire to breathe. She collapses next to Chloe. "—Remind me to…forget it. I'm so exhausted, I forgot what I was going to say."

"I won't…hold it against you," Chloe promises, trying in vain to keep her breathing even, " _if_ you promise to never do this again."

That makes Elena laugh. Then, it makes her cough violently. "Deal," she wheezes.

Carla, freshly showered and rejuvenated, exits the studio, glimpses the two of them and chuckles, not unkindly, before going to get the car started.

 _ **vi.**_

Not even a week after arriving back stateside from Libertalia, and Nate refuses to drop the subject. Madagascar did nothing to change his mind.

"Elena—" he begins, still engrossed in whatever National Geographic article he has pulled up on the computer in her office. His furrowed brow and overall determination make her shake her head.

"No way," Elena interrupts. One glance at the computer screen, and she knows. She just _knows_ what her well-meaning, but beating-a-dead-horse husband is about to say. "We are absolutely not—"

"But they eat mostly plants, they're mostly solitary, _and,_ " Nate continues, as if Elena wasn't speaking, "it says here…that many of them exhibit female dominance, so…y'know," he explains by way of not explaining when Elena stares at him blankly, "they're obviously feminists."

Elena snorts so loudly, it covers her laughter. Mostly. "Sure, _obviously_ feminists."

"Yeah," Nate says in response, grinning infectiously, "girl power and all that."

"Nate, you are actually exceeding the levels of crazy I expect from you," she admits. When it looks like he's about to protest, she places her hand over his mouth. "I love you, but we are absolutely not getting a pet lemur."

 _ **vii.**_

"Not it!"

Nate looks at his wife, exasperated, once they both realize they said it at the same time. Elena, mouth contorted into an 'o' of surprise and finger pointed accusatorily, tries to stop the grin that breaks out onto her face, but she fails.

Miserably.

"I totally said it first," Elena claims, though it doesn't help that she is laughing.

Nate scoffs. "You totally did _not_."

"Oh, come on," she tries again, nudging him with her shoulder. "I meant it when I said we would have to share doing paperwork." She sighs. "If only you would carry your half of the weight."

This time, Nate starts laughing. "Elena, you are so full of crap. I just finished a week's worth of phone calls and permit applications for our dig in Malaysia yesterday, so don't you start." He scrubs a hand over his face before he catches sight of something behind her, and his eyes light up. "Okay, how about I play you for it?"

Elena's eyebrows rise. "You sure that's the smartest move there, cowboy?"

"Nuh-nuh-no, I learned my lesson last time," Nate replies, leaning back in the desk chair. He gestures to the bookcase behind Elena. "No, I'm talking about those."

She follows his line of sight to the off-brand Nerf pistols that had somehow migrated from the attic to their living room. Her smile grows larger.

"I guess if we're completely overlooking the fact that I'm the better shot, then sure," Elena concedes. She walks over to grab the guns and once she has, she tosses one over to Nate. He catches it singlehandedly. "Let's get your humiliation over with quickly."

Nate gets up from his chair and vaults over the couch, proceeding to load ammo into his gun. "You're going to live to choke on those words, you know," he informs her.

Elena just rolls her eyes. "Three hits," she says. "The first one to shoot the other three times wins, and doesn't have to do paperwork."

 _ **viii.**_

Nate gives her a head start, but when he goes to search for her, he finds her almost immediately in their shared bathroom. Using some impressive gymnastics, Elena rolls past him, but he's hot on her trail as they take their shenanigans throughout the entire house. Eventually, Elena ends up behind the couch, her gun trained squarely on Nate, who's standing behind the island counter, his gun aimed at her.

"Well!" Nate booms, a cocky grin stretched wide across his face. "Look what we have here! Ruggedly charming adventurer, Nathan Drake, appears to be up by two, while his lovely, but losing wife, Elena, is preparing to fill out paperwork for the rest of the week."

Without another word, Elena fires a round at him. Nate ducks, but the shot goes wide. When he comes back up, the annoyingly smug grin on his face is enough to give Elena an idea.

"Any last words?" Nate prods, spinning the toy pistol around like he's some kind of outlaw. He has the nerve to come out from behind the counter. "Besides groveling for mercy?"

It's Elena's turn to grin smugly, as she watches her husband still in his tracks, the expression on his face fearful for a split second. Only when she undoes the second button on her blouse does he say something.

"What are you doing?" he asks evenly.

She responds with a full on smile, undoing another button in the process. "Let's just say that in a war of sticks and carrots, I'm going with the latter."

Nate's Adam's apple bobs once, his growing discomfort obvious. Elena takes advantage of his frozen state to approach him. "Hey!" he blanches when she undoes _another_ button. His mouth suddenly feels dry. "We never agreed to partial nudity!"

"We never _not_ agreed to partial nudity," Elena corrects him, undoing the final button. She's close enough to him that she can touch him, which she does, placing a hand on his chest. His heart pounds erratically. "I'm just playing up my strengths," she explains with a wink.

He punctuates rolling his eyes by grasping her wrist, but he can't seem to bring himself to actually remove her hand. "Yeah, your strength of _cheating_ , you mean" he admonishes half-heartedly, his voice faltering as his gaze inadvertently lowers.

Sighing dramatically, Elena pulls away, and slowly starts to button her blouse. "Well, alright. I guess I can do the paperwork this week since you won. It's only fair."

Ignoring his pride, Nate tugs Elena back toward him and hoists her up onto the counter. "You'll be the death of me, you know that?" he admonishes before situating himself between her legs with his hands resting dangerously high up on her thighs.

"I'm just willing to sleep with the co-owner of D&F Fortunes if it means I get out of doing paperwork for the week," Elena admits, her smile wide.

Nate breaks into a matching grin despite all the extra forms he'll have to fill out. It's hard for him to think of paperwork as a loss, though, when his wife is kissing him as thoroughly as she is, their toy pistols in the foreground, completely forgotten.

 _ **ix.**_

"Hey—whoa, sorry!…Nathan, have you always had that birthmark on your ass?"

" _SAM!"_

"Elena, good to see you again. Although, admittedly, last time it was with more clothing—"

" _GET OUT!"_

When the door slams in his face, Sam takes his pitiful dish of green bean casserole down to the kitchen. He finds Sully's down there among various pies and side dishes, filling a tumbler with liquor he'd helped himself to from the cabinet in the dining room.

"Can you believe all that, Victor?"

At his questioning glance, Sam tells him about his run in with his brother and Elena.

Sully slams his glass down in disgust. "The _hell?_ What, do they have a yearly standing appointment?"

And that's the story of how Sam accidentally walks in on Nate and Elena in a physically compromising situation the day before Thanksgiving.

 _ **x.**_

"So in conclusion—" Sam begins, hands held behind his back as he rocks back and forth on his heels. He and Sully had just finished up a job and gotten back from Argentina last night, but his niece had been texting him back and forth about this presentation since before then. Sure, he was exhausted, but who was he to turn her down? Especially when her preparation work had been so impressive?

"What Sam's trying to say," Cassie interjects, looking over at her uncle for some guidance. He imperceptibly nods, and she finds the courage to press on, "is that a lemur would actually make a really great pet, given their herbivorous diets and our house's close proximity to exotic flora, among other things."

From her spot on the couch, Elena narrows her gaze, first at her brother-in-law, then at her daughter. It's hard to respond with much of anything when Cassie even included a visual aid in the form of a _bar graph_ , which is propped up in front of the TV in the living room where they all are presently. Out of her line of sight, Nate gives two thumbs up, and Cassie uses all her self-control to stop herself from beaming proudly.

"Did your father put you up to this?" Elena finally asks, fixing her gaze at Cassie, then Sam. "Or your uncle?"

"Of course not," Cassie blurts a little too quickly. Sensing her discomfort, Sam wraps an arm around her shoulders, squeezing.

"Look, Elena," he says, giving her his most endearing smile. Nate clearly rolls his eyes in his periphery, but he still doesn't have a pet lemur, does he? "I think if there's one person who has really been advocating for this all along, it's Victor."

"Oh, no you don't!" Sully pops his head out from the freezer, ice cube trays in hand. He pops a couple into his tumbler on the counter, and puts the trays back where they belong. It's not until he's pouring liquor into the tumbler that he adds, "There's a reason I have no horse in this race, and it's because, I'm staying far the hell away from this. For what it's worth though, Cassie, your mother is smart enough to see through your father's harebrained schemes."

Immediately, Sam deflates, and Elena turns on Nate, poking an accusatory finger into his chest. "You are the _worst_ liar," she accuses him at the same time Sam says to Sully, "Way to not get involved, Victor. Truly inspiring."

Sully goes on about how Sam started all of this, but it's Nate that addresses his wife's accusation by saying, "I couldn't stand by and let Cassie's dream of having a pet lemur be broken."

Elena doesn't budge. "You mean _your_ dream?"

"Technically," he amends, lacing his hands behind his head, stretching his legs out on the ottoman in front of him, and grinning, "she's our daughter, so really it's _our_ dream."

She snorts. "You are impossible. And you," she directs at Cassie, "despite your solid argument and blatant treachery, my answer still stands. No lemurs."

Sam whistles, long and low. "Tough break, kid."

Cassie crosses her arms over her chest and huffs. "Well, can we at least get some kind of pet?"

 _ **xi.**_

Later, when Elena finally relents and says—after speaking with Sully, who used to have one—they can get a dog, Cassie fist bumps her dad and her uncle, her smile threatening to split her face. She tells Sully they're going to name it after him for his central involvement. He offers her a cigar to celebrate, which Nate promptly and emphatically puts a stop to.

Eventually, curiosity gets the better of him, and Nate asks Cassie how she knew she could get her mom on board with a pet.

"Well, Dad, you always say that the best way to run a con is to get the other person to believe it was their idea in the first place," she admits.

Nate pulls her into a hug, practically beaming.


End file.
